Page 66 of Rewrite the Stars
Oh Jesus.
My whole insides leap and I sit up on the bed, staring at the seven simple words on my phone screen.
Charlie! Here’s my number, gorgeous. Call me.
I can hear him say it as I read his words. There’s no signature, no telling who it is, but of course there is no need to. It’s him. He called me Charlie.
This is it then. I feel weak.
I lie back and hold my phone to my chest, wondering if I can pick up the courage to actually go ahead with what I’d planned. This is what I’ve been waiting on for two whole days. Hell, no, make that years and years. I can’t pull out now. I need to see if being face to face with the man I used to love will shake off the cobwebs of the past once and for all.
I press call on my phone and I wait to hear his voice with my eyes closed and my heart thumping. I’m going to speak to him at long last. This is what I’ve been waiting on, isn’t it? I can’t back out now.
The phone rings, and rings and then I hear his voicemail.
‘Tom here. Shoot me a message and I’ll get back to you. Cheers!’
I gulp. I try to speak. My voice squeaks.
‘Hi Tom, it’s me, Charlotte. I mean Charlie. It’s Charlie Taylor. I just got your message so I’m giving you a call to see about, um, maybe meeting up? Anyhow, this is my number. Oh, you already know that. Um, it’s late. Maybe chat tomorrow, yeah? Bye.’
I hang up the phone and plunge down onto my pillow, cringing and without a clue of what I just said or if I made any sense. I put Jack’s pillow over my head and will myself to sleep. It’s going to be a long night.
It’s five p.m and two days after my message to Tom Farley.
I’m in my car after torturous waiting for a reply which finally came my way, but not in the form of a phone call as I’d been expecting from him. He didn’t call me back, but instead sent a message to meet him in the bar in Howth at ‘7ish?’ today which was enough for me to go full steam ahead with my plan to get him out of my system.
I drive towards the city with my head full of memories and scenarios of what the future might bring. I head out a little bit further east, making my way towards the little peninsula of Howth where Tom and I spent so many magical moments, and my mind is racing overtime. Did he choose to meet me there for old times’ sake? Is he trying to be all nostalgic by bringing me here again? Why is he still here? Was he hoping I might get in touch? Was the song like a smoke signal to me? He knows I’m married so it’s not like he could blatantly reach out, but is this fate giving us a third and final chance at testing our destiny?
I turn the radio up, and then I turn it down, then I turn it off and then on again. I can’t concentrate when I’ve music playing, yet I feel panicky and alone if I don’t have some noise to distract my troubled mind as I see through the last minutes of the two-hour journey up to Howth. My fondest memories of my brief time spent with Tom are from this area of Dublin and I well up thinking of how emotional our reunion is going to be. The sights and smells fill me up and bring me back to those days of hopes and dreams. I feel excited inside. I’ve waited a long time for this.
But what will happen when we finally come face to face again?
Do I hug him when I see him? Is he planning dinner and drinks or just a coffee and a catch-up? Will our conversation flow like it used to or will it be stilted and distant like the years between us?
I wonder what he’s wearing. I imagine he’ll wear jeans and a T-shirt, dark grey or black to show off his bulky arms and manly chest that makes all the ladies swoon.
Whatever it is he has planned, I hope I look OK for the occasion too. I scooped my hair into a messy bun before I left, carefully applied some mascara and blush and a sweep of pale pink lipstick to match the muted tones of the maxi dress and pale blue denim jacket I’m wearing in hope that the rain stays away, which is always a gamble in Ireland at this time of year.
I chose comfortable shoes, thinking how we might take the famous Cliff Walk together again beneath the moonlight, reminiscing about how much we’d planned when we last met up in the same place. We’d talk about how time and fate wasn’t on our side, but how we’ve found each other again for the third time in our lives. Third time lucky, he’ll joke to me, and we’ll share a moment knowing that this time, destiny is on our side.
My mind is running away with itself, I know it is, but this is the type of fantasy I’ve had for years and years, and now I’m about to face it head on to see if it all comes true.
I wonder will he think I’ve changed at all? I’ve so much to tell him about Matthew and how he’s found happiness with Martin, about my job at Holy Trinity and how I told old Miss Jean Brady to stuff her job (he’ll love that one!) and of my marriage to Jack of course.
Jack. I can’t think of Jack right now. I need to stay focused.
I glance at my reflection in the rear-view mirror. I’m thirty years old now, not the dewy-faced twenty-two-year-old student he fell for when we first sang together, or the besotted young woman I was when we met that night in the December snow.
I’ve changed, of course I’ve changed, and I’m sure he has too. I’ve grown up in so many ways, yet part of me, the part of my heart that I’ve saved for him, has somehow stayed the same. Even though I saw him on the big stage a little less than a week ago, I still imagine him as the gentle, endearing, beautiful soul whose tragic background made me love him even more. I don’t know what to expect when I see him up close again. I just hope I don’t make a fool out of myself when I do.
I get a rush just thinking about seeing him in a mix of pure unadulterated nerves and excitement, but also fear. What if I do still love him? What happens then?
And then I’m here. Oh God, I’m finally here and I’m just about to see how this all unfolds at long last.
I park the car outside the pub, fix my hair in the mirror, spray some perfume and, just as I’m about to get out of the car, I think of Jack again.
What is he doing now while I’m on this wild goose chase? Is he too reliving old memories with his old flame in Montreal, far away from home where no one would ever know if they rekindled things just for old times’ sake?
